Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
Hot Stuff (14 page)
We turned and headed toward the train station. Brig stopped once to pull out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “It's not exactly the best disguise in the world, but if you can figure out a way to wrap up your hair, at least no one will see the color, Miss Redhead. These streets aren't near dark enough to suit me right now.”
I did as he asked, fashioning a do-rag out of the square of cotton, then tucking my hair under it. “Yes?”
He burst into song. “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!”
I winked. “I'm glad you know the classics. Did you ever see a live production of
Fiddler on the Roof?
I saw the last revival in Manhattan. Super.”
Fiddler on the Roof?
I saw the last revival in Manhattan. Super.”
“I did too. We can sing âDo You Love Me?' a bit later when we're not runnin' for our lives.” He eyed me critically, then smiled. “Well, you don't really look like one of Tevye's daughters. Tell the truth, you could easily play the lead in
Playboy of the Western World
. Which reminds me, just how much Irish is in your background, Miss Walsh? You have the look, ya know.”
Playboy of the Western World
. Which reminds me, just how much Irish is in your background, Miss Walsh? You have the look, ya know.”
“I have enough, Mr. O'Brien. Enough to recognize blarney when I hear it. And enough not to believe it.”
He laughed, then took my hand in his as we tried to look like ordinary tourists out for a night on the town.
We made it to the train station without incident, paid our fare, and even found a seat in the crowded car. Trains in Bombay tend to give one claustrophobia during rush-hour conditions. They're not quite that jammed after midnight, but there were enough people to give me a sense of security from prying eyes. So much so that I relaxed and fell asleep on Brig's shoulder.
I had no idea how long I slept. I had no idea where we'd started, so I had no idea where we'd ended up. Brig squeezed my hand, then my shoulder.
“Tempe, lass. Time to get off the train. We have to take a cab or a rickshaw from here.”
“Huh? Where we going?”
“The one place I could think of that's safe tonight. Vivek Studios. We're staying on the film set.”
Chapter 17
Raj's trailer was a nice trailer, but it was still a trailer. Nowhere near the opulence of either Jake's or Asha's homes or even Brig's hotel by the harbor. But tonight it was going to be home.
Although picking the lock on Raj's trailer seemed a strange choice in accommodations for the night, Brig's suggestion that we camp there made sense, in a warped sort of way. Jake didn't have a trailer. Asha did, but we didn't know which one it was. There were smaller trailers, all occupied.
I gathered that Raj had told Brig during one of their chats on the set this morning (a very long time ago) that he'd be staying at his home for a few nights. His presence wasn't required early tomorrow. Which was now today, since it must be past three in the morning.
Raj had also told Brig that his trailer boasted a separate bathroom. That alone made Raj's home on the set an easy choice. The breaking-and-entering aspect bothered me, but since all we planned to steal was a night's rest and some toilet tissue, I felt sure once Raj learned about it, he wouldn't be terribly upset.
Once inside my latest residence, I kept dozing off. Brig appeared to be suffering from the same affliction. Exhaustion. We curled up spoon-fashion on Raj's narrow bed and fell asleep after one chaste good-night kiss.
We were awakened four hours later by the rude sounds of Asha Kumar yelling and pounding on the door. Sunlight streamed through the tiny window in Raj's galley kitchen.
“Tempe! Open up! I know you're in there.”
I cautiously opened a second eye and gazed at the man lying beside me. “How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?”
“Not you, singularly. You, plural. Both. As in you and my new best friend out there attempting to beat down the door. How do either one of you seem to know where I am at any given moment of the day or night?”
Brig smiled. The thought struck me that waking up on a daily basis to that smile would be worth any grief that same smile might cause during the day. I pulled the sheet over my body. At some point last night I'd shed my jeans. I didn't remember doing so. Brig noted my movement.
The brogue returned. “You discarded the garment in Raj's bathroom somewhere around five this mornin'. Half asleep when you did so. And I, being the parfect gentleman I am, lass, did not take advantage of yer unclad state. Enticin' though 'twas, I can say without lyin'.”
Brig stood. He'd discarded his jeans also, and I couldn't help but notice the large bump in the road between Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner on the boxers. Had I been aware of that before the knocking on the door started, I might not have stayed the “parfect lady.”
I forced my attention back to the noise outside.
“Would you please open the door and let the girl in? She'll have everyone on the lot lined up outside wondering what's going on if she doesn't stop yelling. Watch. She'll start keening next just to keep herself in shape.”
Brig's shirt lay on a chair across the room. I remembered the feel of bare skin on my back throughout the night. A sensual feeling. A wonderfully comfortable feeling. I could grow used to that feeling along with that smile.
The door opened and Asha breezed through. “Hey, guys. How ya doing this morning? Ready to dance?”
Obviously neither Ray nor Mahindra nor Patel had stumbled across Miss Kumar during the night. A pity. She looked far too bright, cheerful, clean, and rested. There was also a gleam in her eye that boded a fair amount of teasing in store for me all this day. I wondered if I could hide in Raj's trailer during lunch and tea.
Brig pulled his shirt back on.
“Ladies. 'Tis been a lovely night, but I have to be leavin' ya now.”
“Where are you off to today?”
“Remember I told you I had a business errand for this day? One that will hopefully get us out of this pickle with the statue. I'll be back before close of filming.”
He closed the door behind him. I lay back on the hard little pillow and groaned. “I hate that man.”
Asha snickered. “Right. I see that. You look rumpled and far too happy for a girl who didn't enjoy a nice night of passionate sex with a hunk.”
I sat back up. “Wrong. Wrong. And more wrong. Believe it or not, Brig did not touch me. Hell, we were both too stinking tired from beating up thugs and racing around train stations and picking locks to have been able to do anything illicit even if we'd had the inclination.”
I threw Asha a sharp look. “Which I'm not saying we did.”
“Did what?”
“Have the inclination.”
I crawled out of the bed, headed for the small bathroom, and slammed the door shut. I had viewing privacy but not much else. Asha's voice could be heard echoing through the thin walls. “You are so full of it, Tempe.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“ âHave the inclination.' What rot. The pair of you would be on each other like goats on grass if you ever had one night when you weren't being chased all over the city every waking minute.”
I didn't answer. I turned on the water in Raj's small shower stall and stepped in. Maybe if I let it run for an hour, Asha the smart-ass would disappear. Go back to the set. Go back to the pool hall. Or New Jersey.
Asha was reclining on the bed when I stepped back out of the bathroom. A current issue of
People
magazine lay on her lap. For once her picture did not grace the cover. She grinned at me.
People
magazine lay on her lap. For once her picture did not grace the cover. She grinned at me.
“Did you know that Court TV is now the highest-rated cable show in America? That is so cool. They were barely able to get courts to allow them camera access when I left Jersey last time. Well, except in Florida. Either there are way more felons in Florida or the courts there were nicer to the TV people. They used to have a trial a week in Miami alone.”
Tears suddenly filled her eyes. I forgot about being pissed at her for inserting her opinions about my love life into nearly every circumstance.
“Asha? What's the matter?”
“You keep asking why Jake and I broke up this last time? Well, it's simple. I want the wedding in Woodbridge. Mr. Director thinks it'd help both our careers if we had a big blowout here on the set of
Carnival of Lust
. With the dancers dancing behind us. Watch, he'll soon ask you to swing in on a rope and drop flowers overhead.”
Carnival of Lust
. With the dancers dancing behind us. Watch, he'll soon ask you to swing in on a rope and drop flowers overhead.”
“Ah. Um. Would that be so awful? Not the flower rope trick. That would be beyond tacky, not to mention scary. But, I mean, you're both film people. The publicity would be great and everyone loves you here. Can't your folks fly out? Would they?”
She sniffed. “Yeah. They can. And Daddy would love to be back in Bombay.”
One small tear trickled down her cheek. “But, Tempe? Hell. I want to hit Atlantic City for a crack at the slots. I want to go swimming down on the beach by Asbury Park. I want to eat really greasy burgers at the diner on Route 9 where I know every waitress by name. I want to head into New York and catch all the latest shows on Broadway.”
I had to smile. “In other words, Queen of the Masala Movies, you're homesick.”
She flicked her index finger toward me in a pure Jersey gesture of “you got that right.” Then she rose.
“Thanks for understanding. Wish I could get Jake to do the same. He's so wrapped up in movies all the time, he forgets that in real life, people need to visit the places where they grew up. Hey. Think you can get some of my feelings into his thick skull? Would you mind?”
I linked my arm through hers as we flung open the door of Raj's trailer and stepped into the bright sunshine.
“I'll be happy to make the effort for you, but I doubt I'd have much chance of success. Think about it. This is the man who blithely makes a girl he's known for less than a day perform feats of unrealistic daring and undeniable stupidity on large carnival set pieces.”
Asha nodded. “True.”
I continued my tirade. “And all these crazy stunts are simply to get the right look for his movie. You think he wants to be told he needs to forego publicity and thousands of worshipping fans adoring their beloved star as she becomes his missus?”
She sighed, then grinned. “Hey! If I do manage to persuade Jake to do the deed back home, will you be my maid of honor?”
“Hell, yes. Assuming I survive my stay in Bombay. Or even get home. I still don't have my passport.”
Before Asha could respond, we were joined by the group of female dancers. Jake had scheduled women-only scenes for today's shoot. Jake also greeted us. As customary on the set, his manner remained professional.
“Ladies. Good morning. Tempe, today we're filming the sequence where Asha, as the princess, decides to fight her captives, including the ringmaster's mother. She discusses this decision with her women companions through the song. Asha. No dancing for you in this scene, remember? Tempe will lead the girls while you sing, sitting on the giraffe on the carousel. Tempe, the costumer is waiting for you.”
This business of learn, rehearse, then shoot, all in costume and all in one day, seemed damned bizarre to me, but I knew Jake was short on money. At least we had a script. Most Masala movies don't. Cutting the budget meant slicing extraneous rehearsal, so I agreed with Jake's reasoning. Staying independent was preferable to ending up tied to the Indian Mafia business types who seemed to own most of the filmmakers in Bollywood. Or worse, ending up dead.
My outfit this day was a complete departure from the two-piece-bathing-suit- fifties-era gold jobby of the day before. Reena, the cursing costumer, must have joined Jake watching VH1 videos from the eighties.
I looked like a taller version of Pat Benatar in her wonderful video about girl runaways in the streets of Los Angeles. “Love Is a Battlefield.” Funky short skirt with a handkerchief hem of many colors, hair tied up on my head, a ton of bracelets on my arm. Reena had also stuck me in a strapless tube top. I prayed it would stay on in case Jake had me doing backflips. I had no desire to start (and end) my career in Indian film as a topless gymnast.
Jake began taking us through the steps. The choreography seemed knocked off from the same Benatar video. Lots of low walks with snapping fingers, closed fist shaking, and hip pumps. Jake did add a few splits (for guess whom) followed by floor twists.
It reminded me a bit of break dancing, also from the eighties era, except Jake wanted a lot more wriggling and writhing. I'd been told to use the wooden floor stage for the latter. I worried about splinters ending up in tender places when I had time to be concerned about anything other than not snapping a bone or two in my back and neck.
Asha stayed seated on the giraffe on the carousel singing and wriggling. Envy overtook me. She definitely had the easier part of the number.
Then Jake motioned for me to climb onto the jaguar next to her and start thrashing and grinding on the beast. The welloiled beast. I fell off the first three times I attempted to spin on the saddle. (Who puts a saddle on a giant carousel jaguar?)
Jake added one other touch. He hit a button. The animals, plus Asha and I, now began moving in circles. I clung to the neck of my jaguar and ended up with my body parallel to the ground. Next thing I knew, I went sailing off the carousel into the air. Twenty female dancers pulsed hips and shoulders and tried to avoid the red-haired missile rocketing through the center of their circle.
I landed on my butt, then glanced at the clock above the tent where Jake and the cameramen hid from the sun. Nine o'clock. As in
A.M
. A long day loomed ahead of me.
A.M
. A long day loomed ahead of me.
I wondered if Brig was spending his in an air-conditioned, stationary, Bombay restaurant seated across from a beautiful woman named Claire.
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